


pancakes

by howelllesters



Series: askfics [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009 Era (Phandom), Bad Cooking, Fluff, M/M, Minor Injuries, One Shot, Pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howelllesters/pseuds/howelllesters
Summary: Dan tries to make Phil breakfast in bed. Instead he just makes a mess of the kitchen, Phil's pyjamas, and his own hand.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Series: askfics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769077
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 'pancakes', from theinsanityplays.

“Shut up,” Dan hisses at the fork clattering its way to the floor. “You’ll wake Phil.”

Not that waking Phil up would be such a bad thing at this point. Dan’s stood in his pyjama bottoms and one of Phil’s old tshirts that kind of drowns him but it smells good so he’s never taking it off, surrounded by a mess, from which he’s hoping some sort of miracle will occur and pancakes will form.

“Breakfast in bed,” he mutters to himself, sweeping his hair away from where it’s rather attractively plastered itself to his forehead and smearing a trail of flour just above his eyebrows. “What a great idea, Dan, because your boyf- best friend who’s probably a bit more than platonic, is definitely not fussy about breakfast, no, he’ll eat anything at all, you definitely wouldn’t want to talk yourself into making pancakes for him, something you’ve never ever made before.”

The self-deprecating mumbling continues as Dan perseveres with his baking endeavour. This is tragic, really, he thinks to himself. For the past two days, Phil has both cooked and ordered them food, and now Dan can’t even manage pancakes. They’re not even real pancakes for Christ’s sake, not the ones Phil really likes, they’re just the crepes that his mum always manages to do perfectly every Pancake Day and that he’s utterly obliterating right now.

He’s on his second batch already. He only got up half an hour ago.

The plan was to sneak out of bed, whip something up, surprise his absolute favourite person in the entire world, and the boy he’s got more than a bit of a crush on, with the sweet smell of a great breakfast, and then happy Phil. Happy Dan. And if that just so happened to lead into them picking up where they’d left off last time he’d been over to Phil’s, well that was fine too.

“Literally, imagine if his parents came home early,” Dan half laughs to himself, whisking the mixture maniacally, spraying it across the counter. “Oh, hi, you hardly know me, I’m just the weird kid your son started talking to on the internet and this is my third time ever at your house, and I thought I’d just blow up your kitchen for the fun of it. Nice to see you again.”

He’s blushing just thinking about it.

Calming himself, Dan looks at the gloopy mixture in the jug he’s holding and decides that it’ll do. Maybe. For a first attempt that he will inevitably eat to spare Phil food poisoning. And this wasn’t even the hard part. Dear god.

Flicking the hob on, pleased with himself for at least being able to manage that, Dan wipes his flour-covered hands on his sweats and grits his teeth with determination. Evidently all romantic gestures require a battle stance

The oil part goes fine, because Dan isn’t a two year old. Perhaps he’s poured a bit too much mixture in to the pan, but this is his first time, and wow, if the pan would like to quieten down. Thank goodness Phil is a heavy sleeper, so he’s allowed to make mistakes. Hesitantly prodding the edges of his concoction, Dan bites his lip nervously as this might actually be working.

Sure he’s eighteen, and awkward as hell, and his hair gets in his eyes a lot and he looks really stupid when he blinks it away, and he’s such a huge dork, and he’s probably going nowhere special in life, but beneath all of that, there’s just a kid who’s a bit in love with some guy he started talking to online, who is so far out of his league that Dan has to pinch himself from time to time, and he kind of just wants to impress Phil for once, rather than forever being the one awed into silence by his idol turned, inexplicably, best friend and maybe more.

“Motherffffff-” Dan groans, as he attempts to flip the pancake and succeeds in dropping half of it on the floor, the rest simply folding in on itself sadly, continuing to sizzle away in the pan.

The bin is starting to grow dangerously full at this point, cracked eggs and gooey flour from when he couldn’t even get the mixture right perched on top of numerous cardboard pizza boxes, but Dan throws caution to the wind and chucks this sad excuse for a breakfast item on top too, deciding he’ll clean the floor mess up later after he’s inevitably made the same mistake again.

His second try is marginally more successful; yes the pancake still crumples up, but it does remain in the pan this time, which is progress. Progress. Hopefully Phil doesn’t emerge from his bedroom for another three hours. The third try is when Dan thinks he might have started to crack it, because even though the mixture is too thick and the pancake is undercooked in the middle, it actually flips over, and maybe he makes a really masculine shriek of joy as it happens.

Pancake number four and Dan’s ready to join a professional kitchen, before realising that he’s run out of pancake mix, because pancakes don’t need to be five centimetres thick.

“You can do this,” he pep talks himself. “You can mix. You can flip. You… you sound like a character from a crappy kid’s film. But you can do it.”

Moving the saucepan off the hot ring of the hob, but leaving it switched on for a minute, because he’s both practical and safe like that, Dan tries to ignore the mess this poor kitchen is in right now.

Phil’s tshirt is ruined, Dan can’t remember what colour his pyjama bottoms were originally - now they’re a delightful off-white - and he’s even got flour in his eyelashes, but he can see his efforts coming together, and it’s happening, he’s going to make Phil pancakes and hopefully Phil will kiss him again because Dan’s never enjoyed kissing anyone so much as Phil, and they’ll all live happily ever after. For another thirty hours until Dan has to get the train back home.

The third batch of pancake mix is made in record time, and Dan makes a mental note to sneak off to the shop down the road at some point today and replace all the ingredients he’s used, and he’s away. The oil gets artfully drizzled round the base of the pan, the mix is truly at perfect consistency, and-

“SON OF A-”

Dan’s vision blurs with the intensity of the pain. Heat, he remembers, heat, it rises. So if you leave the pan handle over the hob, it is going to reach the temperature of an active volcano and it is going to leave the angriest pink streak across the palm of your hand.

Alternately turning the air blue and moaning in pain, Dan manages to put everything on a solid surface before blindly stumbling towards the sink, nearly crying with relief as he plunges his hand under the cold water. And yes he’s prone to the dramatics but his skin is _peeling_ and he won’t be able to write for weeks.

He doesn’t even turn round to face the rest of the kitchen. This has been an unmitigated disaster, and it wouldn’t surprise him if Phil had been woken up by now. This was probably going to be the last time he was ever invited to Phil’s house while his parents were away again. He can’t bear to face the sprinkles of flour and drips of egg dotted across the flour, the dozens and dozens of spoons and whisks and even several knives that are strewn across the surfaces, the mess that was once a clean hob.

He’s such an idiot.

Officially making a mental note to abandon the pancakes, Dan decides he’ll hold his hand under the cold water for another ten minutes like he’s supposed to, and then he’ll get to work on cleaning up. Best case scenario, he has everything tidied and away before Phil even wakes up, and even if that’s not breakfast in bed, at least Phil will never know.

“Are you actually kidding me?” he says dully as the smoke alarm begins to sound.

Dan doesn’t even turn round to look at the smoky hot oil he forgot was in the bloody pan; things officially cannot get any worse.

There are sounds of someone fumbling around at the top of the stairs, and Dan’s shoulders drop. And there went his final hope.

“Dan? Dan?” Phil’s calling, both sleepy and worried at the same time, and it’s the cutest sound Dan’s ever heard.

He doesn’t bother replying to Phil, doesn’t even turn to look at him. As soon as he steps into the kitchen, it’s obvious he knows what’s happened, because he can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes him.

There is a moment of guilt as Dan hears the scraping of a chair across the kitchen floor and a little ‘uff’ from Phil as he climbs up onto it, and then at least the screaming alarm mercifully stops. Dan’s resolutely staring at his hand, at the water streaming over it; it went numb a few moments ago, but that’s okay with him, because he’s not so good with pain.

“What on earth happened?” Phil asks gently, shuffling over and yawning, pushing his hair away from his face and adjusting his glasses to peer at Dan more closely. “Are you okay?”

“Burnt my hand,” Dan shrugs, as if his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes moments earlier. “Sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it up before I go. I think there’s another train this afternoon.”

Phil blinks at him for a moment, unsure of whether his semi-awake mind is playing tricks on him or if the goofball stood in his kitchen has just offered to go home early because he messed up a kitchen while attempting to make… what had Phil seen in that bowl? Pancake mix?

“Yeah there is,” Phil confirms, nodding brightly, and Dan just agrees, staring at his hand intensely, unable to stop his cheeks, neck, even ears flushing bright red. “I’m almost certain you have a ticket for tomorrow, but still, probably best to check. Now, as much as the running water is clearly fascinating you, we should probably make sure your hand is okay.”

Flicking the tap off, Phil lightly dries Dan’s hand, holding it between his own briefly as he feels how cold it is. Dan just allows him to manoeuvre him, not sure if he’s more stunned by the fact Phil’s okay with him staying even though he just caused World War Flour in his house, or that Phil momentarily teased him and made Dan feel as if he’d literally just been punched in the stomach.

“I will make pancakes one day,” Dan suddenly says huffily, taking them both by surprise.

Phil looks up from inspecting his hand with wide eyes, and promptly bursts into uncontrollable laughter, kissing the frowning Dan on the nose.

“Okay, I’m going to hold you to that. Don’t care how old we are, or where we’re at, you owe me pancakes.”


End file.
